


There's a limit where we break

by surena_13



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: Expanse Fandom Exchange, F/M, this turned really angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 11:57:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15907815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surena_13/pseuds/surena_13
Summary: Whoever he had expected to be on the other side of the door he had angrily swung open, it wasn’t her. It shouldn’t be her. Not her, not here, not now.Cotyar has attempted to drown his guilt over Charanpal's death with whiskey and solitude. And then Chrisjen shows up at his motel room.





	There's a limit where we break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [R_S_B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_S_B/gifts).



> For rikerssexblouse on Tumblr who asked for Chrisjen Avsarala/Cotyar Ghazi. Cotyar feels responsible for Charanpal's death, in the context of them being in a relationship.
> 
> I've actually been wanting to write something in that trend, but I was too chickenshit. This gave me a great opportunity and then I made it angstier than I had planned.

Cotyar raised his head when he heard a knock on the door. He blinked blearily, not entirely sure who would come here. He had neglected to tell anyone where he was staying in Mumbai, waiting for the day of the funeral, holed up in this shitty motel, away from all the places he might run into someone he knew, especially _her._ Whoever was at the door probably had the wrong room. He let his head fall back on the bed and tried to ignore the dryness in his mouth and the faint pounding behind his eyes.

 

There were a few more knocks, somehow sounding more urgent. Grumbling a curse under his breath, he rolled off the bed, not bothering to throw on a shirt as he stumbled towards the door, nearly falling face first on the floor when failed to notice the empty whiskey bottle in his path. Annoyed, he kicked it aside, not wanting to think about what had made him drink it all in a single night, not wanting to remember that it wasn’t the first time since Callisto.

 

“What the fuck is wrong with…shit.” Whoever he had expected to be on the other side of the door he had angrily swung open, it wasn’t her. It shouldn’t be her. Not her, not here, not now. He felt like the air had been squeezed out of his lungs, like a heavy weight had settled on his chest. Anyone but her. He stepped backwards, unable to look away from her. She appeared to have aged ten years since he had last seen her. When they had been fucking and arguing with a grin about their age difference.

 

There was none of that carefree feeling in her expression now. Anger, grief, and unspeakable pain were etched in the lines of her face.

 

She stepped into the motel room, slamming the door behind her, her dark eyes focused on his. He had always felt so confident, so at ease around her, but right now, he wanted to shrink away, to disappear so he wouldn’t have to see that look in her eyes. She knew what he had done, or rather, what he hadn’t done. He’d wanted to message her so many times, to tell her something, anything. But just thinking about the look she would give him made him back out like a coward. Seeing her in person was so much worse.  

 

“Chrisjen, I’m so—,” he tried weakly, anything to alleviate the heavy silence in the room. Chrisjen shot forward before he could finish his feeble attempt at an apology, cutting him off by simply placing a hand over his mouth.

 

“Can you undo your mistake? Can you bring my son back?” He shook his head. Standing this close, he could see evidence that she had been crying underneath her makeup. She looked vulnerable, a word he never thought he would associate with her. “Then don’t fucking apologize.”

 

Chrisjen pushed him away until he was in the middle of the room. She looked so lost. He was itching to touch her, to hold her in his arms, to ease away the pain clearly written on her face, but he couldn’t. He was responsible for her son’s death. He had Charanpal’s blood on his hands as much as the Belters who had pulled the trigger.

 

“What are you doing here?” Cotyar asked when he found his voice again. She ought to be at home with her husband and daughter, trying to find a way of dealing with Charanpal’s death. She really shouldn’t be here, not with him. What they’d had, it had been fun, great even, and he hadn’t envisioned it ending any time soon, but the reality was that he was nothing more than the man she fucked on occasion and someone she had hired to strengthen her position as district governor, even when that wasn’t strictly allowed. They didn’t have a relationship, not really. And now it had all gone to hell anyway.

 

Chrisjen gave him a foul look, as if asking what gave him the right to pose her that question. “The men who killed my son are dead. You aren’t. I had to look you in the eye and know you carry the weight of his life on your shoulders. I asked you to keep an eye on him.”

 

“You did and I failed.” No, that was a lie. He had kept an eye on Charanpal. He had seen on the monitors how a bunch of rockhoppers armed to the teeth suddenly appeared where they shouldn’t have been. He had watched, horrified by how the camera in Charanpal’s suit suddenly went up, filming the ceiling as his life signs disappeared. Cotyar had kept an eye on him alright, right up until the exact moment he died. It should have been an easy mission. Instead, he’d missed the fact that the OPA had gotten a foothold on Callisto, and it had cost him Chrisjen’s son’s life.

 

“It’s my fault he’s dead and I can’t change that.” He had been through a dozen debriefings, had told the story even more, but somehow saying it to Chrisjen made it feel infinitely more real. It seemed to do the same for her. She suddenly looked smaller than she ever had, but the anger burned brightly in her eyes. “Do you want to hurt me?”

 

She inhaled sharply, and for a second he expected her to say yes. She definitely had every right. He would let her. He’d let her tear him apart, do anything that would stop her from looking so broken. She had wanted to see the weight of her son’s life on his shoulders, but she seemed to carry the world on hers, now more than ever.

 

“What the fuck would that achieve?” she snapped. Despite her anger, he could see tears pooling in her eyes, a myriad of emotions all out in the open. His hands clenched into fists. She was a formidable woman, a force of nature. He’d never imagined her crying and he hoped he wouldn’t ever see it again.

 

“Then what do you want?”

 

“I don’t know,” she whispered after a moment of hesitation. Something inside of him broke, hearing Chrisjen sound so small, so powerless, so utterly unlike herself. He reached out and wrapped his arms around her, giving her plenty of space to push him away, but instead she returned the hug, her fingers digging into his back with an almost bruising grip. Cotyar buried a hand in her hair and just held her close.

 

He felt her shudder against him. There were tears against his chest. She was crying and it would have been much less painful if she had just screamed at him, hit him, hurt him, anything but this. He was holding the woman whose son he had killed. Nothing could have prepared him for this. And then he felt her lips against his skin, moving, kissing, and he froze.

 

“Chrisjen.” He tried to disentangle himself from her, but she clung to him, her face hidden. She couldn’t want this. Him. Not now. She was supposed to hate him. Maybe she did, but her hands slid to his hips, her fingers teasing the waistband of his boxers and he had no idea what to make of the situation. Normally he’d lead her to the bed, or push her up against a wall if time was short. But this didn’t seem right.

 

“Don’t. Just don’t.” The words were muffled against his shoulder, but he understood her just fine. She didn’t want his protests. She just wanted him. He had no idea what she expected to get out of it, but her intention was clear. Her breath was hot against his skin when she spoke again. “Fuck me. One last time.”

 

There was a long pause. “Alright,” he muttered into her hair. Alright. He could give her this. He bore the responsibility of the worst pain of her life. He had to give her this. He wanted to. Chrisjen finally looked up at him, her cheeks wet, but underneath the grief he saw a spark of want and he decided to focus on that to keep himself somewhat sane.

 

The taste of her tears was still on her lips when Cotyar leant down to kiss her. She returned it eagerly, desperately. She kissed him as if she were trying to forget what had happened. Her perfectly manicured nails cut into the sensitive skin just above his ass, pulling him even closer until there was nothing between them but the intricate layers of her sari.

 

It was when he touched that spot where her neck met her shoulder, that one place that never failed to make her moan that she suddenly pushed him back until his calves met the bed and he was forced to sit down. Chrisjen was breathing heavily, her eyes wide, staring at him as if she had lost her mind. He half expected her to walk out, but when she decided she wanted something, she didn’t stop, not even now. So, he watched her as she moved the folds of her sari aside and crawled on his lap, her legs pressing against his hips.

 

Instinctively he ran his hands up her bare thighs and got a soft sigh in return. Like this, he could almost forget why she was here. He could almost pretend this was just another one of their trysts. Like he had come to her after doing another one of her little investigative missions and fallen into bed with her, unburdened and free. Almost. There was no smile on her lips this time, no familiar spark in her eyes.

 

She grabbed his wrist and unceremoniously shoved his hand between her legs as she sought out his mouth, claiming it in a bruising kiss. Tracing the flimsy material of her underwear, he teased around her clit and was a rewarded with a tiny whimper. She was still so responsive to his touch, rocking her hips against his palm.

 

Chrisjen broke the kiss and looked into his eyes, her grip on his shoulders tightening. Even with the obvious arousal in her expression, the pain there was inescapable. That was too much for him to handle right now. He looked away and fastened his lips to her throat, doubling his efforts to give her what she wanted. Moving her underwear aside, he circled her clit before pushing his fingers back and slipping two inside. Her back arched and a moan escaped past her gritted teeth.

 

Normally, her colorful language would be washing over him. He knew all of her weak spots, was finding them all to drive her over the edge. She was always vocal and explicit, but other than a few gasps and groans, Chrisjen was uncharacteristically quiet. Cotyar didn’t know if she were trying to focus on what he was doing or simply trying not to think about anything at all. He wouldn’t blame her for the latter. If she were using him merely as a distraction, it would make perfect sense.

 

“Stop,” she ordered and he immediately stilled his fingers and pulled away from her neck. He grimaced when he saw that he had left a mark, but she didn’t seem to care. She just pushed his hand away and shoved his boxers aside with none of the grace he had come to know her for. This was urgent, desperate. He had to steady her with a hand on her back to ensure she didn’t lose her balance.  

 

Their eyes locked and for a moment everything stood still. He could see the way she had looked when he had first met her, remember the taste of her on his tongue, hear the way she cried out when she came, see every inch of her skin. It was all burned into his memory and after this, it would be all he had left.

 

He gasped when she sank down on him in one swift movement. It would have felt familiar, right, if she weren’t looking at him like she was in pain. The words to ask her if she was alright died on his tongue when she rolled her hips and started fucking him, setting a maddening rhythm that made him want to flip them over and fuck her the way they both liked. But he couldn’t take the control away from her. This wasn’t about him.

 

Twisting the fabric of her sari in his fist, he held her close as she rode him, her forehead resting against his. His emotions were a mess. Wracked with guilt and self-loathing, scared of what was going to happen after, helpless, hopeless, but, with Chrisjen wrapped around him, the arousal was hard to deny, a heat in his veins. Cotyar couldn’t ignore what he had done, but he could allow himself a brief respite, giving himself to the woman in his lap for one moment.

 

He moved with her, trying to give her what she wanted, what they both needed. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t playful, there was no push and pull, no teasing. Not even if a strangled ‘harder’ between moans. There were gasps and soft moans and a singular focus to get off, to fuck through the grief, trying to find a moment of pleasure in this terrible situation.

 

She was silent when she came, leaving scratches on his back as she rode out her orgasm, trembling in his arms. He could only hold on to her, reveling in this last moment he could touch her, feel her, as his own orgasm took hold of him. He let it wash over him, hoping it would numb everything and take away reality just for a little while.  

 

A tear that wasn’t his own falling on his cheek burst that bubble. Chrisjen raised her head, the tracks her tears had left on her face clear and suddenly it was all wrong. He shouldn’t have done this. They shouldn’t have done this. Grief could drive even people like her to do insane things. Clearly it had. Seeking solace, or whatever the hell this had been, in his arms, it made no sense. She needed to go home, to her family.

 

“I should go,” she said quietly as she got off his lap, his cock slipping out of her. He nodded, not sure what to say or do. He had always loved to watch her dress afterwards, see how she put the layers of clothes back on, but now he averted his gaze as she straightened her sari and wiped at her eyes.

 

He wondered if she regretted coming here. Maybe she had wanted to hurt him, but decided against it. Or maybe she had just wanted to know he was suffering as well as she had claimed. But he knew for certain she hadn’t sought him out to have one last fuck. But that’s where they had ended up. A twisted sort of goodbye, a way to finalize it all. After the funeral, he wouldn’t see her again. He was going to leave India and never return, a new posting on Luna seemed far enough away.

 

Chrisjen looked mostly composed again when he raised his head. She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again, swallowing down whatever it was before moving towards the door of his shitty motel room.

 

He wouldn’t have known what to say to him either.

 

“I wish I could trade places with him,” he whispered, just as she opened the door. The words left his mouth without his permission, but he meant them nonetheless.  

 

Chrisjen stopped and turned to look over her shoulder. There were no tears in her eyes, no doubt in her voice when she spoke. “I wish you could trade places with him as well.”

 

The door shut behind her and it was the coldest sound he had ever heard. He hadn’t loved her, they hadn’t had that kind of relationship, but he could have loved her, so easily. He hadn’t loved her, but he still felt his heart break, just a little. He let his head fall into his hands and, for the first time since Charanpal had died, he cried.

 


End file.
